


Afterlife

by Jolinar773



Category: Tales of Vesperia
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-21
Updated: 2019-06-21
Packaged: 2020-05-16 02:22:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,287
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19308691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jolinar773/pseuds/Jolinar773
Summary: Schwann Oltorain may have resigned himself to becoming Alexei's faithful bloodhound, however Raven in him is growing restless and the First Captain finds himself at a crossroads.  Will what remains of Damuron Atomais be strong enough to break the chains that bind him to the life of a tool, or will he loose himself once more in the abyss of despair?





	Afterlife

**Author's Note:**

> This piece is actually heavily inspired by "The Empty Mask (Kokuu no Kamen)" manga, which depicts Raven's life before he met Yuri and the gang. There are also references here to the events of the manga, so unless you read it, you might be a little confused :) Just google it, it's not hard to find :)  
> I can honestly say it made me cry... but then again I also cried through the whole fight with Schwann at Baction, so maybe it's just me... orz
> 
> Also, I am not a native speaker, so apologies for any grammatical mistakes. I read through my work several times, but those buggers are always there... :)

He could hear it clearly now; rustling noise, footsteps stomping through the thick undergrowth, accompanied by quick, rapid breathing. His prey was getting tired. He had it right where he wanted it, and so he waited, patiently, silently for the right moment to make the kill.

It was getting closer by the second, and he readied his bow. He pulled back the string, aiming carefully between the trees. There was movement; he held his breath as he flexed his finger, then released it.

With a swoosh, an arrow sped towards its target, and for a few heartbeats there was nothing.

Then a deafening scream of terror and pain pierced through the almost tranquil stillness that only comes before the crack of dawn.  
He followed it, his face an empty mask. He was in no hurry; his prey was not getting anywhere anymore.

As he approached, he heard shufling and rustling of leaves behind a bush. There was a shadow slythering across the ground in a futile attempt to get away from him. Twig snapped under his boot as he approached, his prey froze on the spot. It was an older man wearing what could once have been posh, but beautiful clothes. Now, they were nothing more than rags, torn and muddy from the mad dash he made for his life, thinking he could win. Trail of lood stained the fabrick all the way to his ankle, arrow still protruding from the back of his left thigh.

"S-s-stay back!" came out a panicked squeal through tears and sobs. "I have friends in the Coulcil! Y-You won't get away w-with this!"

He felt nothing watching the pathetic display. No compassion, no mercy, not even contempt or disgust. After all, emotions were for people who were still alive; not for a dead man like him.

Soft sound of his dagger slipping out of its sheath drowned everything. The man's eyes bulged, fixed on the shining blade, as if they were about to pop out of his head.

"N-no, please! I'll do anything..." he croaked, paralyzed with horror, knowing his death was upon him, and there was nothing he could do to stop it.

And as much as he feared for his own life, there seemed to be none in the turquois gaze of the young knight now kneeling beside him. His eyes were empty like frozen ponds on a moonless night.

Strangled whimper was the last sounds that came out of the man's mouth as his throat was slit with a single, quick flick of the wrist. He was dead before his body hit the ground, blood bubbling around the gaping wound above his adam's apple, staining his collar dark crimson, and pooling beneath him over the leaves and grass.

His mission complete, the knight took only a brief moment to watch as he cleaned, then sheathed his weapon. He considered disposing of the body, but there was no need. He could already hear monsters drawn in by the smell of fresh blood. They would come soon enough, then there would be nothing but gnawed bones left.

However, as the adrenalin of the hunt began to fade, the image before him made his stomach twist. He thought he might have gotten accustomed to the presence of death by now, they were almost constant companions, yet, it took almost everything he had to ignore the taste of bile in his mouth.

Moving on barely more than instinct, he forced himself to retrace his steps back towards a nearby town, catching a sight of its barrier blastia just as the dawn finally arrived. He raised a hand as he watched the crimson disk lazily climb onto tangerine-colored sky. First rays brushed over the canopy of trees, chasing away the blanked of darkness. For that single moment, the beauty of the birth of a new day helped him forget where he was and why was he there. Then it was gone as the light swallowed him, blinding against the gilded armour covering his arms and legs, and with it a familiar voice echoed through his mind:

_"I think the reason you're suffering is because the way you act conflicts with how you truly feel."_

He had to lean against a nearby tree for support as his knees buckled. He felt light headed for some reason, his hand felt for the edges of the hermes blastia in his chest, replacing the heard he had long since lost.

"I am Schwann Oltorain. First Captain of the Imerial Knights." he rasped through gritted teeth. "I always have been and I always will be."

Those words have become his mantra, guarding what remained of his sanity against the painful past that tugged at the depths of his tortured mind. He would recite them over and over, until he himself could almost believed them.

After taking a few deep breaths, collecting himself, he went to retrieve his horse from the stables.

He would be long gone before any of the townsfolk woke up.

**o*O*o**

When the Imperial Capital Zaphias began to take shape on the horizon, night was already falling again, and he was beginning to doze off in the saddle. The brilliant glow of the city's barrier blastia, that has kept it safe for centuries from atop the Sword Stair spire drew his gaze.

Schwann Oltorain let out a yawn, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. He felt so unbelievably tired and worn out, his armour seemed to get heavier with every step forward.

As lights came on, illuminating every district, Zaphias must have looked like a brilliantly sparkling gem from afar. Close up, however, the city was the same as every, if not worse.

Thankful that nobles rarely appeared in the streets after dark, Schwann made his way inside via the Noble Quarter entrance, deftly slipping over a tall wall into a garden of one of the surrounding mansions. There was a statue there, guarding an underground passageway he now used to move around undetected. It lead him out from beneath a statue of the goddess, not far from the castle audience chamber.

There was nobody around as he covered his tracks before navigating his way through darkened halls he knew by heart by now, so to speak. The few knights on duty he met along the way saluted him, but fortunately the Commandant was not among them.

Schwann felt genuine relief Alexei hadn't picked this day to prowl around, as he often did when awaiting his faithful shadow to report. He had no energy left to deal with the man tonight.

Closing the door to his study behind him, he moved around in the dark, gratefully slumping into the chair behind his desk. He simply wanted to relax for a while, but suddenly his mind was wide awake and he could not stay still for the life of him.

For the people outside, the Imperial Palace inspired awe, its beauty renowned far and wide. For him, these pristine walls felt frighteningly stiffling, preventing him from breathing properly the longer he remained inside.

Perhaps that was why, in the end, his legs had taken him all the way to the Lower Quarter, where he stopped in front of the door to the Inn that read "Comet".

Of course, he had forsaken the gilded plates of his rank in favour of a much more comfortable clothes, that didn't stand out like a sore thumb. People here recognized him whatever he wore, and any fools looking for an easy mark would be very unpleasantly surprised. Although there were not as many of those anymore, since he had taken to expanding patrol routes, and from time to time even hung around to keep watch himself.

Tonight, though, he felt like drowning in booze.

Another pint appeared before him as if by magic, and he smiled gratefully at the inkeeper from where he sat, slouched over the bar table. Nobody asked him what happened. They simply offered him sanctuary and peace, if only for a while, and he felt immensly grateful for that. His mind hazy with sleep and alcohol he mused how and when he had become so comfortable in this dingy pub, with nobody for company but his own houghts. Surprisingly though, he realized they were no longer quite as miserable as he remembered. And so it was with a heavy sigh he paid for his drink, before -somehow unsteadily- walking out into the already breaking dawn.

Only partially aware of his surroundings, he made it almost half way through the Public Quarter, when he heard the familiar sound of steel against steel coming from an alley nearby.

As if someone splashed him with cold water, Schwann sobered up almost immediately. It was far too early, there should not have been anyone in the streets, except for guards. Still, he readied his bow, approaching silently the source of the commotion until he could see the backs of three knights, whose sickly pink uniforms he could recognize anywhere.

They were Cumore's men.

"Would you look at that!" one of them drawled mockingly. He apeared to be the leader of their little pack. "The _little hero_ is still standing."

Schwann craned his neck to see who they were -most likely- harrassing, but from his angle could not see.

His two companions cackled. "Let's show this lowborn trash what happens to heroes who don't know when to give up!"

That was his cue. Whoever it was they were picking on, he would not allow them to go any further. Folding his bow into the form of a shortsword, he moved out out of the shadows, descending upon them like a vengeful revenant. The first of Cumore's thugs went down before anyone even knew Schwann was there. The others saw nothing more than a wraith with bright eyes glowing with cold fury.

And he took full advantage of their fear.

Coming about, he used the momentum of the second knight against him as he tried to swing his sword at him. His arte lifted him easily off the ground, then Schwann drove the hilt of his sword into the man's solar plexus not to kill him, but with enough force to send him flying into his unfortunate commander. He attempted to brace himself, but was far too slow. Having lost his footing, the extra weight of his comrade in armour made him stagger back, before toppling down a short flight of stairs. There the both of them remained, motionless. Though still alive, they were positively out cold. Schwann reasoned there was no need to kill them, when they haven't seen his face.

It was then, when he finally looked at their unfortunate victim, and his eyes widened at the sight of a short, yet somewhat stubby figure he knew all too well.

"Leblanc? What are you--" Schwann trailed off when he noticed the knight was holding something in his arms.

It was a skinny boy, no older than fourteen, with long, dark hair plastered over pale face and skin covered with cuts and bruises. He apeared to be barely alive. Suddenly Schwann's oppinion of the man who had very recently become a member of his brigade rose by a mile. To risk their lives to protect the people, that was what Knights should be all about.

He did not want to think what would have happened had he not been there.

Relieved to see a friendly face, LeBlanc dropped to his knees, all strength drained out of him, as if someone pulled a cork. His moustache dripped with tears that poured out of his eyes like a waterfall. He, too, looked like he had been through hell and back. His sword lay a few feet away, broken in two, his uniform a mess.

"Captain Schwaaaaaan!" he cried before Schwann could stop him.

Swallowing whatever he wanted to say, turquois eyes skimmed their surroundings as the First Captain pulled his subordinate back to his feet.

"Not now." he said as LeBlanc was drawing shaky breath to speak. "Let's get the kid to a healer first."

o*O*o

The moment a Royal Guard showed up to politely inform Schwann that the Commandant has been looking for him, the First Captain immediately regretted not staying put last night.

Getting involved with Cumore brigade while saving Leblanc and that kid -whose name was Yuri, he learned- was so unlike him, even Alexei was bound to notice. And he had been on his excellency's radar for some time now, perhaps even from the very first moment he had become Raven of Altosk.

There was much to be said about Don Whitehorse, none of it Schwann belived until he actually met the man. Since then, he has begun to notice changes in both, his way of thinking as well as acting. If Alexei was the one who had brought his body back from the dead, then the Don had salvaged what was left of Damuron Atomais' soul.

Unfortunately, the Commandant of the Imperial Knights had no need for a tool with a mind of his own, thus it was becoming increasingly difficult to discern Schwann Oltorain from Raven without arousing suspicion.

"Is there anything you wish to explain?" Alexei asked the moment his lackey had left, after ushering Schwann into his office.

He leaned forward from where he sat behind his desk, handing a stack of papers to the First Captain. They bore the seals of three noble houses, and as he skimmed through the contents, his stomach churned. Aparently, those three upstarts he beat up this morning wasted no time limping back to their rich families to petition a strong-worded grievance straight to the highest brass. Of course, there was no way Alexei would not recognize his precious bloodhound's handiwork from their colorful description. Or lack there of.

After what felt like hours of silence, where Schwann tried to imagine every possible outcome of this conversation, he finally opened his mouth only to be stopped by Alexei raising his hand.

"Never mind. I wish to hear no more of it, my head already hurts enough." he sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

There was a clear warning in his words, however. Schwann kept his freedom, unless his actions reflected upon the Commandant himself. This time, he may have been succesful in avoiding detection, but a lot of things could have gone wrong. Alexei had no intention to pursue the issue from the very beginning, he simply wanted to let Schwann know he watched his every step.

Certain he had made his point, the Commandant took the papers back and threw them in a garbage can under the table. "Well then, since you have clearly been enjoying yourself last night, am I to asume your work is done?"

Schwann tensed at the memory of blodstained rags, gurgling rasps and bulding eyes devoid of life.

"Yes." he said, keeping his expression as blank as possible. He knew Alexei could read him like an open book, yet he could not help himself to instinctively try and hide whatever doubts have acumulated over the years.

After what felt like hours, the Commandant's piercing, vermilion gaze left him, and Schwann let out the breath he didn't even know he was holding.

"Very well. I expect a full report in two days." Alexei stood up and walked to the window.

He looked out into the courtyard, where some of the rank-and-file knights have been practicing since morning. They were mostly Schwann brigade, which was why the Royal Guard had found the First Captain there as well, earlier. Leblanc was among them, and although he had made great strides from the clumsy oaf Schwann used to to train out of pity, the man was hardly what Alexei would call a Knights material.

Hoping against hope the Commandant's silence was a sign that he was excused from his presence, Schwann clapped his heels together. "Understood." he said and walked towards the door.

"One other thing," Alexei's voice sliced through air like a cold steel. "I must say I am beginning to question your choice of company."

Schwann closed his eyes for a brief moment, his shoulders almost sagged. He should have known he wouldn't be able to get away so easily.

"I am fully aware I have encouraged you to create your own brigade. However, I hardly meant you use whatever rabble you pick up on the streets."

Well, Schwann thought grimly, this conversation has been a long time coming. Surprisingly though, it was the Raven persona in him that pushed him to deal with it now, rather than postpone an inevitable confrontation.

"I am no better, according to the shiny new life you have given me, and now I hold the title of First Captain." he said in a small voice, though it was as much an accusation as it was a sign of defiance.

In a way, he blamed Alexei for bringing him back to a world, where there was nothing left for him anymore. There, the man chained him to a new life he cared nothing about by asking for help to rebuild what was lost during the Great War. It was on _his_ orders Schwann met Don Whitehorse, became Raven, and now found himself torn between his duty to the Knights and the tantalizing prospect of freedom Altosk offered.

"If I remember correctly, it was you, who believed in greatness from small beginnings, sir. Would you become one of the hypocrites you despise so much by denying others equal opportunity to change?"

Calling the Commandant of the Imperial Knights a hypocrite might have been stretching it a little, he realized as soon as those words left his mouth. Perhaps Raven had learnt from the Don a little too well.

Sure enough the atmosphere between them thickened, and he felt rather than saw Alexei's eyes narrow dangerously. Strangely, neither Schwann nor Raven felt fear or anxiety at the prospect of enduring his superior's wrath. Perhaps by putting his doubts into words, he would finally be able to put a stop to the battle waged between his two personas, before they destroyed him completely.

"Is this how you feel, Schwann?" Alexei spoke surprisingly calmly, it was perhaps more unnerving than had he been angry. "Very Well. If you instist on acting like a rebelious child, I shall treat you as such."

Schwann turned around, having decided to face the brunt of whatever was coming next. Alexei ever yelled at him only once before - back when he had awakened from the sleep of the dead only to find a blastia covering the hole in his chest, where he had lost his heart. He promptly attempted to rip it out, to which the Commandant almost threw a fit. Schwann had never seen the man so distraught before, and only once since.

Forcefully, he shoved the memory of what followed after the blast that had leveled the Imperial Knights headquarters years ago, to the back of his mind. Those were different times. Times when Alexei still cared; before both of them changed.

"If you can best me in combat, I shall grant you whatever it is you desire most." the Commandant walked towards him; the look on his pale face made Schwann shudder. "If you cannot..."

He didn't need to finish. The First Captain knew very well he would spend the rest of his days on even shorter leash. Not so long ago, he wouldn't have cared enough to fight for anything, let alone something as fleeting as freedom. But now Raven was there, and for better or worse, he was getting stronger.

"I accept." he said without thinking.

He would win, or he would die. Either way, this ends today.

**Author's Note:**

> This duel between Schwann and Alexei is actually cannon, because Raven mentioned they fought once and he lasted less than 3 minutes, so second chapter is coming to depict their fight and the consequences, althought we all know how it ended...  
> What do you think? Second opinions and reviews greatly appreciated :)


End file.
